


Guarded

by MaeWestKozi



Series: Darkest Dragon [2]
Category: Castlevania: Lords of Shadow, Castlevania: Mirror of Fate, 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Brotherhood of Light - Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:17:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5828281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaeWestKozi/pseuds/MaeWestKozi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor Belmont is eight years old, and there is a monster that lives under his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Trevor Belmont is eight years old, and there is a monster that lives under his bed.

He’s grown up in the Halls of the Brotherhood of Light, learning about the different kinds of evil and darkness that affect the people of the world - monsters both fantastical and all too human. He’s heard tales of heroism and heartache from the different Brothers in the Order, and he’s smart enough to know that there are some things they don’t tell him at all.

At first he thinks it is a prank; that Jacobs or Stevenson is hiding under his bed, waiting to grab his ankle and make him shriek. Those boys are older than him, and Trevor is a little bit short for his age (but he’ll grow - Brother Anders has told him that his father was a tall man), and sometimes they’ll pick on him. Hearing the scratch and scuffle from underneath his straw mattress, he’s already trying to think of ways to get them back - maybe a handful of earthworms in Jacobs’ shoes. He’s grinning, all set to foil the attempt to make a fool of him, when a cloud passes by outside, and the cool light of the moon streaks through the gap in the shutters of the dormitory to show that _all the beds are occupied_.

Trevor fights hard not to cry out - it could be one of the kids from the dormitory across the hallway; one of the girls. He makes sure to slowly shift himself into the center of the small bed, wiggling his feet to make sure every inch of his body is tucked under the covers where it’s safe. But when a hand - long-fingered and mottled grey and green in the dark, misshapen and all knobbly knuckles and pointed dark claws curling over the top of the foot-board, Trevor screams, clenching his eyes shut tight.

There’s a rattling hiss in his hears, but he _won’t look_ , and then he feels the warmth and stinging brightness of torchlight in the room, and loud and heavy footsteps. “Is everybody alright?”

Slowly, Trevor opens his eyes. Jacobs has fallen out of bed, and is grumbling irritatedly under his breath while glaring in Trevor’s direction. Somehow, Stevenson is still asleep, snorting loudly in his dreams. That boy would sleep through anything, Trevor thinks. The other boys in the dorm are starting to sit up, looking around blearily towards Brother Anders where he stands just inside the doorway, brandishing a lit torch and an unsheathed silver knife. One by one, the boys give affirmations, that they were, ‘just fine,’ until Trevor had woken them up with his, ‘girlish shriek.’

“None of that, Matthew,” Anders admonishes the boy for his comment before sheathing his knife and striding across the room towards Trevor’s bed. Trevor can’t move - caught between mortification and sheer terror.

“No-! Brother Anders! _There’s a monster under my bed!_ ”

Anders stops walking forward at Trevor’s exclamation. The eight-year-old can feel the incredulous gazes of the other children burning against him, and his cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. But the Brotherhood of Light is in the business of dealing with real monsters, and so Anders takes Trevor’s claim as seriously as he can. The boy looks so small, shaking like a leaf in the middle of his bed, cocooned in his blankets so securely it would definitely take some work to untangle him in the morning.

“Alright,” Anders says, drawing the silver knife once more. Carefully, he approaches the bedside, and crouches down to illuminate the underneath with torchlight. Just some dust and a pair of yesterday’s socks are there to greet him, and he sheathes the knife, before standing straight. “Trevor, whatever you saw, it is not there, now. It was probably just a bad dream.”

The other boys are starting to laugh - calling him a baby, a scaredy-cat. He can’t blame them, he did wake them up in the middle of the night for what seems to be nothing, but he was so sure!

Trevor shakes his head, “no! I saw its hand, it grabbed the side of the bed!”

“Here?” Brother Anders points to the foot-board where one of the boys’ tunics has been haphazardly draped. “Look, Trevor - it was just a dream. In a certain light this could certainly look like a monster,” and here he turns to glare towards the other boys, “it certainly smells like one. Alexander, this is yours, isn’t it?” And he picks up the dirty shirt and hurls it into the other boy’s arms. “Keep your space clean.”

Trevor feels embarrassed tears prick at the corner of his eyes. “...I’m sorry... I was so _sure_...”

Brother Anders sighs and sits down on the bed next to him. “I’m not angry with you - I would much prefer to have you call for help, and not need it, then to hold something like this to yourself in a real emergency.”

The other boys have started to go back to sleep - it’s late and they’re all tired after yesterday’s training, so it doesn’t take much until only Trevor is still awake, Anders by his side.

“...Look, Trevor,” Anders begins with a sigh. “There are scores of Brothers and Sisters here in these walls to protect you. To train you how to protect yourself, and the people around you: it’s what the Brotherhood of Light is all about. You are safe, here. Alright?”

Trevor can do nothing but nod - in hindsight it seems so childish. He saw a shape in the dark (Alex’s stinky shirt, _ewww_ ) and his imagination ran away from him. “...Alright, Brother Anders.”

They exchange goodnights, and then Anders leaves, taking the torchlight with him.

Trevor tries to settle back to sleep, but his heart is still pounding in his chest from adrenaline and embarrassment. The rest of the dorm is going to make fun of him tomorrow _so much_ , and the thought makes him want to cry. Until he hears a sibilant hiss creep up from beneath the bed frame, and the terror grips hold of him once more. He stays perfectly still, and doesn’t sleep for the rest of that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gingerbread is always a good first step towards thwarting the forces of evil.” Father Peter’s waistline tells a tale of many such ‘first steps’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by discount gingerbread cookies and the Castevania LoS2 soundtrack.

The next morning, Trevor is so tired he face-plants into his oatmeal. It’s lukewarm and sticky, smelling faintly of cardamom and honey. He can feel the tug of bags under his eyes, and has that quivering shaky feeling in his fingers and toes that comes with lack of sleep. The day is cloudy and there is a chill in the air – winter has just become to transition into spring, and the damp of melting snow and ice makes a grey gloom hang over the Brotherhood compound.

Throughout the morning lessons - reading and writing, basic maths - Trevor keeps having to pinch himself to stay awake. Sister Daphne has no patience for scallywags that fall asleep while she’s teaching, and the greying matron is fond of the strap to remind her students to pay attention. It does nothing to calm his fraying nerves, and by the time midday rolls around, Trevor is a jittery and paranoid mess. Luckily, he’s still young enough to get the afternoon off, so the eight-year old heads to the compound’s Chapel for peace and quiet away from the other children. But mostly he wants to talk to Father Peter.

Father Peter, the Chaplain, is an older man – hair gone white and thinning, a once fit frame sagging under the weight of age and a weakness for gingersnaps. He was from a country far to the south – his complexion is a dark and rich earth tone, warm and creased with laugh lines; broad-featured with deep set hazel eyes. His voice is deep and sure - the simple Chapel’s acoustics make his words come to life every time he addresses a congregation. To Trevor (and, indeed, most of the children in the compound), Father Peter is better known for his stories, rather than his recitation of scripture. The man can weave together a tale more thrilling and daring than any other, and Trevor had often plied him for tales of his own father’s exploits.

Entering through the Chapel doors, Trevor scuffles his feet against a woven mat laid down on the floor. With the melted snow, mud is starting to make itself known where it can, and keeping floors clean by wiping dirty shoes on the mats makes for less chores the next day. Even with the overcast sky, it is still much brighter in the sunlight than indoors, and Trevor pauses for a moment while his eyes adjust. The soft candle-lit interior of the Chapel is soothing on his tired eyes, and he wanders up between the pews to where Father Peter is sitting at the front of the church.

“Ah! Young Trevor! I was wondering when I’d be seeing you next... Oh my... Dear child, you look like you’ve seen a ghost! Come, come! Have a seat,” Peter pats the bench of the pew next to him, his expression kind, but eyebrows tilting in worry. Solemnly, Father Peter considers the young boy. Trevor is still jittery from lack of sleep, and the morning’s lessons and anxieties have made him seem pale and almost ill.

“I... Father,” Trevor begins, wringing his hands, and hesitant to speak, at first. “...Father Peter... can I ask you something?”

“Certainly, Trevor,” he responds gently. He clasps his hands over his knee, turning in his seat to face the boy squarely. “What troubles you?”

Trevor fidgets, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. The gesture causes a pang in Peter’s heart – Marie had made such an expression when she would come to speak to him about her worries when Gabriel had been sent on particularly long missions away from the Brotherhood.

“...I’m afraid to go to sleep.”

Father Peter stays quiet for a moment – while the boy collects his thoughts. It’s one of the things Trevor likes about speaking with the man; he’s patient, and lets one talk at their own pace. Thinking about having to go to sleep in the dorm, and that the monster might be back – and that it might do more than hiss this time - makes Trevor shiver slightly.

“Last night... There was a monster under my bed. I... I thought it was a prank at first - I could hear it hissing... But I...” Trevor turns his head away, flushing in embarrassment. “I screamed when I saw its hand creeping up on the foot-board. Brother Anders came in... And he told me I imagined it. ...I mean... It could have looked that way, I guess. But I was so sure!”

The Chaplain waits quietly to see if the boy will continue, but Trevor stays quiet, still mortified from the way the other boys had teased him. He speaks up softly, bringing Trevor’s attention. “And what do you think? Did you imagine it?”

“...I thought I had, until Brother Anders had left. ...But I could hear it _all night_. ...Hissing right underneath my head. ...When the Brother came in...it was _hiding_. Father Peter... what do I do? If I call for help, and it hides again...!”

Peter frowns in thought, and hums. “...You’re afraid that they won’t believe you. Is that more or less scary than the monster?”

“...I don’t know,” Trevor decides. “Do you... also think I imagined it?”

“No, Trevor. I believe you.” This is another reason why Father Peter is Trevor’s favorite member of the Brotherhood. “I know you to be a brave young man, and I know that you would only be so worried about something if you were absolutely sure.”

“Thank you, Father,” Trevor sighs in relief, a hesitant smile on his face. “... Is there a way to keep it from coming back?”

Peter smiles back. “I think I have just the thing - wait here a moment, and I’ll go and fetch it for you.”

Trevor nods, and waits on the bench while the Chaplain bustles off to fetch the mysterious thing. He smiles a little bit, swinging his legs back and forth, trying to imagine what Father Peter will bring back. Holy water to sprinkle around his bed? Light magic medallion? A silver knife?

Father Peter comes back to see Trevor practically bouncing in his seat with anticipation, and he smiles fondly. “First things first, Trevor,” the Chaplain begins, sitting down on the bench and holding out a cookie - gingerbread, of course.

Nodding eagerly, Trevor accepts the biscuit, devouring it almost instantly. With his worries somewhat abated, his absent and tumultuous appetite has roared back to life, and he finds himself looking forward to supper. After eating the gingerbread, he turns to look up into Father Peter’s smiling face. “Thank you, Father Peter.”

“You’re welcome - gingerbread is always a good first step towards thwarting the forces of evil.” Father Peter’s waistline tells a tale of many such ‘first steps’. “Now... this is what I have for you,” the Chaplain says, and reaches over to place the object in Trevor’s hands.

It’s a crucifix - heavy and cast-iron despite it’s small size. It’s of a simple, but hardy construction - there are no embellishments or filigree. A plain, peasant’s crucifix, attached to a thick piece of rough twine. It’s worn around the edges and obviously well-loved by the way the rough edges of the iron have been smoothed and worn through handling.

“...Your father made this when he was only a little older than you - blacksmithing was one of his apprentice trades, and this was one of the first things he made in the forge. He gave it to me not too long before he went off on his quest to seek out the Guardian of the Lake of Oblivion. ...I think, if you were to hand this from your bed frame, that the monsters will leave you alone - a symbol of His protection, forged by Brother Gabriel... I think any creature of darkness would most certainly thing twice-oof!”

Father Peter’s breath whooshes out of him as little Trevor practically leaps over to wrap the man in as strong a hug as his eight-year-old frame can muster.

“...Thank you, Father,” Trevor manages, still clamped onto the Chaplain like a grateful limpet.

“Anytime, child. Anytime,” Peter replies, patting the boy fondly on the head. “Now, run along, eh? See if you can grab something from the kitchens for that growling tummy of yours.”

Trevor lets go, laughing. The boy is still pale and shaky, but he’s got a determined light in his eyes, now. The sort of confidence and surety that comes with finding a way to combat one’s fears. “Yes, Father Peter, I will!”

And so, waving over his shoulder, Trevor scampers down the aisle - now with a spring in his step, compared to his earlier trudging gait - and exits the Chapel. Father Peter watches him go with a fond expression, that fades into one of worry as the wooden door shut behind the boy.

“...Just what are you playing at, Gabriel...?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...Why...?” She scuttles across the floor like a crab towards him, her joints bending the wrong way with wet cracks, her hair dragging along the ground with slimy swishing sounds. “...Becaussse it has been decreed-!”

Trevor Belmont is eight years old, and there is a monster sitting on the floor next to his bed.

He blinks a few times in half-afraid puzzlement. Everyone else is asleep and unaware of the dark creature in their midst - it’s a spell of peacefulness that he’s wary of breaking. The crucifix he got from Father Peter hangs from the wooden bedpost next to his head, by it’s cord, and the creature’s gaze is fixed on it, unblinking, and emitting a low and sub-audible hiss.

Drawing his blanket tightly around his shoulders, Trevor gulps down his fear and scooches across the bed towards the edge nearest the monster - it looks like a girl only a few years older then him, with long dark hair. But her skin is mottled and water-logged in appearance, and her eyes gleam in the dark like a cat’s. But just staring at her all night won’t solve the problem (and being singled out by a monster is definitely _a problem_ ), so Trevor gathers up his courage and breaks the stillness.

“...W-what do you want with me?” He squeaks out the question as softly as he can so as not to wake the others, flinching back when her head snaps towards him with a wet crunching sound. He has to struggle not to gag in sympathy - now that they are looking at each other face to face he can see that some of her long hair is in her mouth like she’s eating it. She considers him silence for a long moment, and he doesn’t breathe until he sees her blink.

“...sss...I wasn’t supposssed to be ssseen,” she whispers back, her voice lisping and hoarse, like she had spent time screaming. “...Didn’t mean to fffrighten...”

Trevor nods shakily. “...Alright, then. ...Why were you under _my_ bed?” Trevor knows, with all the certainty of a child, that monsters do hide under beds - but his curiosity has compelled him to find out why him?

“...Why...?” She scuttles across the floor like a crab towards him, her joints bending the wrong way with wet cracks, her hair dragging along the ground with slimy swishing sounds. “...Becaussse it has _been decreed-!_ ” She interrupts herself, smacking a mottled hand across her mouth as if she had said too much. She wrenches her head to the side, looking away from him, and flushing in embarrassment. It’s such a human gesture, that it makes her ghastliness seem all the more tragic. Trevor feels his fear for her diminishing, and the sour taste of pity sits in hit mouth.

“...If you can’t tell me, that’s okay,” he whispers softly. He doesn’t want to startle her; her movements are uncanny and unnatural and they do frighten him, but he can’t help but thinking how very painful they sound. Because for all that she is the monster that was hiding under his bed, Trevor is also starting to see her as a girl. And, she looks so downtrodden and pathetic, sprawled out on the floor in a half-crouch.

She’s quiet for a long moment, watching him out of the corner of her eyes - Trevor can tell by the way they gleam in the dark. “...You’re kind. Like _Him_ ,” she says eventually, as if she has finally understood something. She turns her head slowly, staring at Trevor’s face intently, glancing towards it, and then towards the crucifix, and back. “...I...” She flounders, glancing around the room as if searching for a way to change the topic. With a frustrated sounding hiss, she throws something at Trevor in a swift motion.

He closes his eyes tightly and ducks, pulling the blankets over his head to protect himself. But nothing lands on him, and there are no sounds other than the muffled snores of the other boys in the dorm. Slowly and carefully, he peers over the edge of his blanket, to see what happened.

The girl monster is gone.

* * *

Stheno is both nervous and giddy when she is summoned to speak with the Prince for the first time. She’s heard of him, of course - it’s rare to find any of the Dark that haven’t since He first made himself known among them. But she has never seen him in person, never heard him speak, except through hearing his words passed through others. What she does know, is that His word is Law amongst all beings of the Darkness, and that things are different than what they were.

He’s different than what she expected, but at the same time, not. She arrives at Bernhard Castle - a place of Darkness so deep and evil that she and her sisters had always avoided it before - and is escorted through its grand winding halls towards a lavish throne room, though its moth eaten tapestries and crumbling masonry and more candles than she can count puddling in their own wax make the room seem sad, but no less impressive. Seated at the end of a long red carpet, on a grand throne of brass and gold, is the Prince of Darkness.

She’s confused - at first glance he looks almost completely human, though his face and shoulders are in shadow.

“Stheno,” he speaks, his voice soft and kind. “Will you come closer?”

She does as she’s bid, more out of curiosity than any sense of fear, standing tall, right at in front of his feet. She feels him smile - the atmosphere of the room lightens. She hadn’t realized how oppressive and heavy the Prince’s presence had been until then, and she shivers, feeling suddenly bereft. A hand comes up from one of the throne’s grand armrests to tilt her chin upwards, and the flesh is cold and unyielding like stone. A vampire - but not like any she’s ever seen before.

“You and your sisters have a place in the Darkness,” he states calmly. “Will you accept this, and follow under the shelter of my wings?”

_The Dragon_. She can feel it in her minds eye - a great and terrible beast of endless hunger and overwhelming Darkness. An unending and undying fount of Shadow and Strength, yawning its great fanged maw wide to swallow her whole. While the vampire’s manner is kindly and gentle, she has no doubt that she isn’t being given a choice, not really. So she steps back and bows low, her forehead touching her shins, and her hair pooling around her feet.

“Yes, my Prince,” she replies.

“...I’m glad,” he says, and stands up from his seat to approach her, guiding her to stand upright once more. “...I have a task for you, if you think you are capable of it.”

Stheno nods, her neck cracking, as an unbidden feeling of warm pride settles within her.

 

Trevor Belmont is an unremarkable human, she thinks. She’s watched him, hidden under his bed and in the shadows of the Brotherhood compound for more than a week before the night when he sees her. It’s just a glimpse, but she’s immediately struck with a wild panic - she had been instructed to keep her mission a secret. She flings a dirty shirt from another boy’s bed onto the foot-board she had been peeking over, and scuttles into the rafters faster than the eye can follow.

When the Brotherhood Knight convinces her target that it was an imagined dream she is relieved. Once he’s gone she sighs happily - she’s not failed her Prince.

_(She dares not fail or surely the Dragon will eat her - she can feel the fire of her Prince’s banked ire smoldering at her back.)_

But the next night, there’s a crucifix on the bed-frame, and this gives her pause. Not because it was a symbol of the human God, for such holy objects do not deter a gorgon such as her, but because of the clinging _feeling_ it gives off.

This cross was fashioned by the Prince’s own hands - and she doesn’t know how this is so. She sits on the floor beside the bed, staring at it, and wondering. How had a vampire managed to make something like this? And why does this human boy have it?

When the boy talks to her, she isn’t really paying all that much attention, still fixated on the cross. Is the boy a thief... is that why he is to be watched?

No.

She sees him then, in the shadow of the boy’s eyes, and in the fall of his hair. This human resembles her Prince. This human is a _baby dragon!_

She pretends to throw something at the child, and when he flinches, she flees, confused and terrified. She loiters around the marsh to the south of the compound, taking solace in the familiar muddy dampness.

“...So, you figured it out,” a low voice drifts on the wind behind her, and she looks up to see a flock of bats hanging from the tree branches, watching her with glowing red eyes.

“...My Prince...!”

Stheno doesn’t know what to say or do - he’s not really there, and she could probably run for it. As soon as the thought occurs to her, it passes. The Dark is his domain, and there would be nowhere she could possibly escape to if she tried. She hiccups, surprised to find she is crying - she hasn’t shed tears since Athena had first cursed them.

“...My Prince... I’m ssssorry!” She wants to be and plead, but she knows that such displays will not move one such as him. She failed in her task to watch the boy without being seen, and she has discovered the identity of the Prince of Darkness’s mortal son. Stheno bows her head, expecting nothing less than to be struck down.

“Why are you sorry, Stheno?” The Dragon’s voice is calm and pleasant.

She’s managed to work herself into such a tizzy that she doesn’t know how to answer him, and hiccups again. She clasps her hands over her mouth to hold in the sounds of her distress when he speaks again.

“You are sorry because you were seen when I asked you to be hidden. You are sorry because you have found yourself to be in possession of dangerous information. Is this correct, Stheno?”

The sound of her name being spoken by her Prince is like a death knell in her ears. But his words are true, and so she nods.

“Do you want to be forgiven?”

The question startles her. Forgiveness seems such a foreign thing. She did not forgive Poseidon for violating her younger sister. She did not forgive Athena for transforming her, Euryale, and Medusa into monsters. Stheno has never given, nor asked, for forgiveness in all her existence. But in that moment, in a cold dark swamp, watched by the glowing eyes of a vampire’s familiars, she _wants to be forgiven._

“My Prince,” she manages. “Please, forgive me.”

As before, she can feel The Dragon’s smile, lightening the burden of her failure.

“Your task is changed,” he tells her. “You are known to him, now. You are no longer to ensure the boy is watched... Stheno. Do you understand what I am asking you to do?”

She nods, a fierce grin stretching her lips. She can feel the call of her true form, all brass claws and red serpents in her hair.

“I’ll not fail, my Prince,” she pledges. “With all my power, as the eldest of the gorgons, I make this solemn promise. The human, Trevor Belmont, will be _guarded_.”


End file.
